The Simplest Touch
by leangrypeanut
Summary: My attempt at a 5   1 that turned into a 4  1 fic. Kurt and Blaine learn just how much touching can communicate. One shot written for the Klaine Games Scavenger Hunt on LJ. Under the fill for Intimacy.


They talk. A lot. The first months aren't maybe all talking, but there certainly seems to be a lot of time filled learning each other through words. Time that could have been used in so many other ways. But that's ok, and Kurt's learned to love it because all that talking, the syntax, the letters and awkward pauses, made for so much more. And now, they don't really need words. They don't need to bruise the air, clutter it with more noise, when now they know each other so so well.

This is maybe Kurt's favorite thing about having a boyfriend, about having _Blaine_. That now they speak through touches, that now he finally, finally has been initiated into that group of people who somehow know how to speak through the touch of a fingertip. And it's all the romance he ever could have hoped for.

And Blaine's touch, it means so many things. His fingers and hands and intentions; communicating with Kurt's skin and face and into his bones, thrilling and soothing and exhausting him.

1)

Blaine's touch is so often comfort. Kurt never expected to learn to lean into someone else, to lean on them and to breathe them in. He thought he'd want the trappings; holding hands in a hallway, dancing at prom. But he so seriously misjudged himself, and the depth of what he needed. He wanted to have someone to be there, so he would know he wasn't alone and that he was loved. Kurt had spent a long time feeling fundamentally alone and unloveable. And not because he wasn't fabulous, or witty and intelligent and captivating. But because this was godforsaken _Ohio_, and there was a serious dearth of boys brave enough to be themselves in the face of casual cruelty and prejudice. Because he was sure that until the day that he finally got to escape, he'd be alone.

Kurt knows now, too, that holding hands in a hallway is a dangerous taunt, an unnecessary bull's-eye. Spending prom next to Blaine, his lovely boy still vibrating with fear and soaked in memories he'd only hinted at, Kurt understands that they still live in a world where they have to be more careful and guarded. Everything that he thought hand holding would be, everything that he thought he would want, has been decimated by the reality of Blaine reaching for him. Blaine is just this, a small supernova colliding into all of Kurt's expectations and boundaries.

When they are together, and Kurt is tucked between Blaine's knees, back against the steady rhythm of Blaine's breathing, Kurt could care less about hand holding. He's smaller than he thought possible, curled up and held, and Blaine's fingers are tracing over the skin of his neck, carefully into his soft hair. Kurt has never before felt so happily exposed and bare and comfortable. Comforted. Because Blaine need only touch the back of his knuckles and he's filling Kurt with warmth and love and, really, scew hand holding. Because this is so much better.

2)  
>It is still somehow a shock, when they walk into the so often present homophobia that surrounds them. And for reasons Kurt cannot fathom, it still hurts, still surprises him. When the middle aged lady with tragic hair and an ill fitting uniform hesitates to sell them tickets, pointed words whispered carefully close to the microphone so that they can feel the weight of each word, a judgment and sentence, Kurt does what he knows. He's stiffened up and pulled away from Blaine and already the words, his words, that are hard and cutting, are gathering on his tongue.<p>

For so long he has been a solitary entity. Even Mercedes and Burt, those who'd been let farthest in, understand the primary rules of Kurt. When riled, or upset, when perched on that thin edge of anger and fear he knows far too well, he is _not_ to be touched. Kurt loathes reminders that behind his façade of impenetrability and stone and steel, he's just a boy. Because, despite how carefully he hides their bruising, fingerprints of judgment and hatred, Kurt is just a teenage boy that feels all of this so much. Too much. That is so easily marked by casual homophobia, by pushes and slushees and words thrown with a force that marks him like stones. Kurt might be an expert at hiding these hurts, at secreting them away and coming back up looking even stronger, but there are parts of him that will always be vulnerable. This is what his words are for, and for each hopelessly backward person in this town who presumes to judge him, he has words to cut them back down too.

But Blaine doesn't care about any of this any more. After a few months of eyeing this wall carefully, Kurt can only guess that Blaine has figured it's all a farce anyway. All the words and talking did _something_, and now Blaine somehow knows, he sees that as safe as Kurt's space and coldness make him feel, Blaine's touch makes him feel _better. _Kurt hasn't even begun speaking and Blaine is running a hand gently down Kurt's arm, ignoring the woman behind the counter as she curls her lip in disgust, and his fingers against the palm of Kurt's hand are speaking to him. _You aren't alone_. It's love and soothing and relief. It's knowing that everything he bore by himself for so many years has been divided and shouldered with him. Mercedes, his father, Finn…they can love him. They can care and fight for him. But here, only Blaine knows. Only Blaine feels what it is like to be hated for a quirk in his buildup that he has no control over. So when he turns to Kurt, in the darkened doorway of the theater, hand in hand, and kisses him softly, his warm breath is a balm and Kurt closes his eyes for a moment, swaying into it. Because they don't need words, harsh or hard or sweet and careful here. They just need to understand.

3)

And yes, Blaine's touches turn him on. Oh they wreck him, wind him up and he's dizzy, spinning into his hands and lips and so out of control. Kurt wanted this, touching fingers and someone to hold, but he'd never really quite understood it. Never quite managed to see himself, here, shirt untucked and half unbuttoned, panting into the soft and scratchy curve of Blaine's neck, unashamed and needing and asking for more.

But he is there, rolling with this boy, this gorgeous, needy boy, pulling at his t-shirt, so ready to touch Blaine's skin and muscles, and it's a need that's indefinable but basic, he feels it in every part of his body. And maybe months ago he would never have guessed at his capability for this, the ability to get outside himself and just exist in this space. But right now, he doesn't care that his pants are wrinkling and his expensive shirt is on the floor. He isn't worried about exposing his need or his pale skin, or any of the small details that might normally cause him to pause for insecurity. He is in it now, in a moment and a place where he only wants to find a way to get closer, to be so much a part of Blaine, to just let himself fall into how good they can make each other feel. They don't need words, just touch and all they need to know or say to each other, they are saying, loudly.

Blaine wants him. Kurt can feel it in the way his fingers dig into him, hard/good into his hipbones, in the way he's punctuating kisses with bites and begging whines. Blaine touches him and he's sexy, and wanted, and so hot for him, they are so much for each other. Kurt is smiling, kissing his way down Blaine's chest, and Blaine's hands are kneading into his back and there's nothing gentle or hesitant about Blaine's hands on him. And Kurt is so glad that the time for words are over. Why should he hear Blaine telling him about how he wants him, when he can feel it, so much, coating him in every place that Blaine lingers?

4)

Kurt has been loved. He's been loved in so many ways, enough to recognize the shifting mutability that is love, the different ways it manifests and learns and lives. He's been loved by parents, a mother no longer here but who loved fiercely enough to leave an imprint, a scar of the best kind, just under his skin. He's been loved by a father, who so often has no idea exactly who his son is, or how to understand him, but will do anything to defend his right to just be. To be every strange, enigmatic, unheard of kind of kid Kurt has become. His friends, while often distracted by their own lives, insecurities, even failings, love him too.

But he's never been in love like this, and better, he's never been a part of that sort of _in_ _love_. The sort of electric exchange that is him and Blaine, feeling it, together. At first, they say it so much. At good bye, in greeting. It punctuates kisses and bookends arguments. Eventually though, words taper and slow; and while they still say it, more often, they _mean_ it. In actions and thoughts- when Blaine remembers Kurt's passing comment, how much he loves this kind of chocolate and how he can never find it- Kurt comes home a week later to a whole box that's been special ordered online.

There is the day in mid June where Kurt not only overlooks Blaine's ridiculously misguided outfit (cargo shorts and flip flops, really?). He's so far from offended really, and instead finds himself laughing the next day at the store at a pair of ugly flip flops that just seem so Blaine, and he doesn't even care how wrong they are, he's buying them. Kurt loves put together Blaine, dapper Blaine, and now he's loving summer Blaine, unwound and relaxed and all boy; Kurt can't help himself, can't stop himself from wanting just more and more of every kind of Blaine he can get.

Best of all are the times when he knows. When Blaine just has to touch him, a grazing touch that ghosts across his shoulder blades as they cook dinner together for Kurt's family. Love doesn't have to be a show, it's rarely a declaration any more. It's laden into the smallest moments, the simplest touches, the air between moments all around them. Every way that Blaine touches him means love, that he is loved, and that he loves back.

5)

Blaine can't believe where he is, really, but he _so_ can. Kurt is under him, a beautiful thing. He's long limbs and so much boy, muscles and scent, but even more, such a wrecking juxtaposition. His skin, delicate and easily marked, wanting, and Blaine has to be so careful not to leave an imprint of himself, hands and teeth, a roadmap of hormones all over him. But he knows, that like Kurt, there are so many more layers, and despite the impression of fragility, Kurt is anything but. His body is a testament to surprise, and the first time Blaine sees it, managing to get Kurt's many layers of shirt and undershirt and tie off and away, he is so surprised and turned on and just reveling in the lean lines of muscle and strength and definition that Kurt manages to hide so well.

But the best part, the absolute best part, is how he doesn't have to be nervous or hesitant or shy away from Kurt. And when Kurt's tapered, soft hands find themselves ghosting down the line of his stomach, thumbs resting just under the waist of his jeans, it's a question, a whispered supplication unheard but asked just the same. For every part of Blaine that wants, that strains toward it, are equal parts that aren't ready, that aren't sure, and he hasn't even thought it through before he's taking Kurt's hand and lacing their fingers together, and rolling; now Kurt is under him, their joined hands are together on the pillow beside them.

These are the moments when Blaine loves Kurt most, when he's exposed and vulnerable and completely unafraid; because when Kurt touches him, Blaine trusts. Right now he's trusting the safety net of their relationship, so that he knows Kurt isn't hurt by the denial, so that he knows Kurt understands. He loves so much that there isn't even a pause, there's no hesitation between Kurt's intention and Blaine's request for more time, because they are still together, kissing and unfurling into each other in different ways.

Blaine has moved on, past Kurt's sweet mouth, down to his throat, and he's caught up and trying to hard to remember to take care, because marks are so much harder for Kurt to hide in the summertime, when he stops to see Kurt looking at their joined hands. Objectively, the chiaroscuro of their skin is startling, and neither boy knows it, but they've both been drug back and down, into the same memory. And Kurt won't know why Blaine has sudden tears of happiness in his eyes, and Blaine isn't sure why Kurt is suddenly opening to him, legs wrapped around his waist, a smile so bright it hurts. Because they don't need to speak, they don't even need to know, that they are both lost in a moment, when two boys, with so much between them, met for the first time.

When one boy reached out, past Kurt's fear and insecurity and protective spacing and took his hand. When without knowing it, Kurt trusted this new, beautiful enigma of a boy he'd just met on a staircase in a strange school, trusted him enough to take his hand and let him lead. Here and now they are just Blaine and Kurt, in love and lust and so many other things, brilliant with happiness and the fulfillment of teenage dreams, but then, they were just two boys just beginning to suspect that the simplest touch could be met with trust.


End file.
